Double Toil & Trouble: Macbeth's Nieces

By Peg Herring

Scotland's King Macbeth has been dead for a decade, yet his legacy changes forever the lives of his twin nieces, Jenna and Jessie macFindlaech. Viking raiders on a blood feud come to their home in the Cairngorm Mountains, intending to kill all males of Macbeth's line. Finding only female descendants in the clan-hold, the Vikings declare they will seek out the older sister, who has two sons. Knowing she must somehow warn Tessa, Jenna escapes the marauders. To her horror, the Vikings take Jessie with them as a hostage.
The girls must learn to live without each other, outside the world they've always known. It's especially hard for kind-hearted Jessie, whose lameness makes her doubt her own worth. Jenna's anger keeps her going, rage at the Vikings who ruined her peaceful life and, she fears, have killed her beloved twin. She refuses to believe any Northman has the tiniest spark of good: not the deformed vitki fortune teller called Aldis, and definitely not Lukas the Tracker, whose merest touch makes her feel weak in the knees.
Jenna's path takes her to England and then France, where she meets William of Normandy just before he leaves to conquer England. Jessie stays in Scotland, pursued by Viking Bjorn Bear-Slayer and protected by a kind man who sees her as a burden laid upon him by a benevolent priest.
As each sister copes in her own way, love interferes with their intentions. In both cases it's love that cannot be expressed, love that's too irrational to ever be returned. Each girl struggles to put her emotions aside, but their hearts don't know how. The attempt only leads to Double Toil and Trouble.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwendolyn Books
• Release date: Jul 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386040972

Peg Herring

Peg Herring is the author of several series and standalones. She lives in northern Michigan with her husband and ancient but feisty cat. Peg also writes as Maggie Pill, who is younger and much cooler.

Book preview

Chapter One

Jenna

THEY CAME AT DAYBREAK, stalking silently from the grove of spindly trees in business-like formation, eyes watchful, weapons ready. Before the sleepy-eyed Scots could react, the rough men were upon them, pulling the adults from their beds at sword-point and herding them together like sheep. Squinting into the misty morning, Jenna stood with the others, shivering and fearful in the cold damp. Their men glared at the interlopers, furious with them for the assault and with themselves for being caught unprepared.

There was little to hear as Jenna’s life crashed around her. Men grunted as they were kicked or pushed into place, a child cried out and was hushed, face muffled against her mother’s chest. Jenna heard the mother whisper fiercely into the girl’s stiff, reddish hair, Whist, nae, d’ye hear? An older girl sobbed, but there was not much sound to it, as if she realized her fears meant nothing to the hard men who stared impassively at them.

Jenna’s gaze swept the tiny circle of her family. Meg, her oldest sister, stood with her husband Donald. Nettie and Ailsa, each with a baby on her hip and a husband at her side, watched fearfully, glancing at Meg for courage. Behind them the family’s servants and herdsmen stood, children peering from around their parents’ legs. Jenna’s heart gave a little jump as she realized her twin was not among them. A second, closer scan gave no reassurance. Jessie was not there. Where was she?

Out staring at the night, Jenna decided. When darkness covered the mountain, Jessie often left the smoky house to breathe fresh air beneath the stars. Tonight, it’s a blessing, Jenna thought. Jessie will be spared whatever fate awaits the rest of us.

When members of the clan-hold were assembled within the ring of the hard-faced, foreign-looking warriors, two men stepped from the tree line and made their way forward. The first, a man with starkly-white hair and dark, brooding eyes, moved with a slow and stately gait, as if heading a procession of worshipers rather than a band of interlopers. Though his frame was well muscled he looked shrunken, as if he’d taken little nourishment of late. His solemn face bore an expression of piety, and his gaze focused somewhere above their heads. His heavy sword rode in a scabbard at his back, and his hands were folded before him as if in prayer. Lesser men had done the dirty work. It seemed he had a different role.

The second man, a half step behind the first, was one such as Jenna had never seen before. Taller even than his tall companions, he seemed too perfect to be real: long, silken hair of reddish gold, a face strong yet beautiful with high cheekbones and a smooth brow, and a body formed for pure strength. While the others wore subdued colors and rough fabrics, this man’s deeply-dyed garments trumpeted personal pride. His bright blue eyes missed nothing as they swept the scene. When they lingered on Jenna, she shivered but would not look away. After a moment his gaze went on.

The silent warriors who’d torn Jenna’s people from their beds parted to admit the two men into the circle of captor and captured. The dark-eyed one examined the men among them, focusing on each face in turn, his expression almost, but not quite, benign.

When he spoke, his voice was higher than she’d expected. I seek the men of Macbeth’s clan. The words, though spoken in her tongue, sounded strange, the inflections slightly off. Their odd appearance now made sense. The intruders were Vikings.

Long ago, before Jenna’s grandfather’s father was born, they’d come as invaders. Some had settled along Britain’s east coast, carving a place for themselves among the mixed clans and tribes settled there. Along with Saxons, Picts, and Angles, Vikings had intermarried with natives until in some places it was difficult to separate the cultures.

These men, however, were blatantly Norse, with the tall frames and fair hair of the Scandinavians to whom terrible deeds were attributed. Looking at the grim faces before her, Jenna felt her fears deepen. What if the old folks’ tales of the Northmen’s cruelty were true?

Eyes sweeping the bedraggled group of prisoners, the leader’s gaze focused on Donald. Are you blood kin to the fiend Macbeth?

Meg’s husband was no coward. His rugged face revealed contempt and his voice was firm as he answered, Our late king was no fiend, though I claim no blood kinship with him.

The stranger smiled thinly. Macbeth was a murderer and a coward. I am come to avenge his crimes, so my soul and the souls of my family can be at peace.

Donald frowned in confusion. Macbeth is dead these ten years.

Waving a hand as if the argument had no consequence, the man replied, I, Leif Arneson, have seen his cruelty. The sight of it would burn the eyes from your head.

The splendid man beside Arneson shifted his feet. Jenna couldn’t decide if he was discomfited or impatient. Their eyes met for a second time and his head tilted, like a cat awaking at a sudden noise. She lowered her face, uncomfortable at his interest.

The white-haired man spoke again, raising his voice. Macbeth ordered the murders of a mother and her sons. The gods have called me to avenge them.

A stir went through the little crowd of listeners. A stranger come at the behest of his gods could not be good for them. The ageless ones are angry. His voice thrummed with certainty. The blood feud calls.

There were gasps of dismay. A blood feud!

Macbeth was killed in battle, Donald said, his voice firm. There’s no call for more blood.

The Viking shook his head. One death does not suffice. Each squandered life cries for payment.

Jenna shivered. A blood feud was a fearsome thing. The family of a murder victim was required by honor to exact a life for a life, and the life taken need not be the murderer’s. Any family member might suffer in his place, even children. Would they all die today because of events a decade gone? It was unusual but not unheard of, and Arneson’s demeanor revealed determination to see it through.

Meg stepped protectively before her husband. No man of Macbeth’s line lives here.

Anger flared in the Viking’s eyes. You lie! Macbeth’s brother took his family to the Cairngorms, to this place, when he tired of your nation’s constant upheaval.

My father, long dead, sired only daughters. Meg nodded at her little family. Nor are there male children in the new generation.

Arneson’s posture slackened as if he’d taken a blow to the stomach, but he raised his face piously to the stars. At least the gods spared us more of his ilk, he murmured.

Meg’s chin lifted defiantly. Our father was as good a man as ever lived. Donald put a hand on her arm, warning her not to tempt a madman. The Viking, ten years late for vengeance, was almost certainly diseased in his mind.

There was a stir outside the circle, and Jenna turned to behold a new, even stranger sight. Four men approached, bearing among them a large shield of beaten metal. On it sat a woman of extraordinary beauty and coloring such as she had never imagined. Her hair was so pale as to seem translucent, lighting the face it framed. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, and her cheeks showed red against otherwise chalk-white skin.

When the bearers set the shield on the ground, however, Jenna saw that the woman’s lower body was deformed, almost barrel-shaped. Probably to disguise this, she sat amid colorful blankets and pillows, only her upper torso visible above the bright fabric, like a vision in a dream.

The newcomer examined the people before her, considering each face. Her gaze stopped on Jenna, perhaps noting that no child clung to her, no man lent his protection with an arm or even a glance. One pale eyebrow lifted before she went on, cataloging each member of the group in a manner known only to herself. Have you found what you sought, Leif?

The Viking glanced at her resentfully, but his voice remained neutral. They say no men are left of his line, Aldis.

Is this true? She spoke to Meg, her tone hinting she would know if lies were told.

My uncle was the last macFindlaech.

Her smile was odd, perhaps haughty, perhaps something else. Only women speak for the great Macbeth?

I cannot speak for him, Meg corrected. My uncle and I never met.

Arneson stirred impatiently. No sons to compensate my loss, Aldis. Who will pay for Macbeth’s murder and betrayal?

We have heard such stories, Meg said, but tales may be told of any man once he’s dead. The telling does not make it true. Again Donald shifted beside his wife, perhaps wishing she didn’t feel the need to defend her kinsman.

Even in their home high in the mountains, they’d heard of it. Folk said the desire for power had led Macbeth and his lady wife to murder and madness. They rejected the whispers, first because it was natural to hope their kinsman had not been a monster, and second because their sister Tessa had known the king in his last year of life. She insisted the stories were lies invented to justify one king’s deposition of another.

The Viking’s cold gaze seemed to look through Meg, but he responded to her words. I did not imagine my brothers’ cries as Macbeth’s men spitted them like hogs at slaughter. I heard them! He raised his hands dramatically, and spittle flew from his lips as he shouted, The fiend’s line must be stomped out, like the eggs of a serpent! His eyes searched the crowd as if willing satisfactory victims to appear. The Scots winced at his fury, but no one spoke.

There are no males of his blood here, Leif. Aldis spoke softly, her hands resting in her lap. Jenna would learn later that she cultivated stillness because movement caused her pain.

The Viking turned on her in anger. Then you were wrong, and we have wasted weeks.

Though she sat below Leif, Aldis appeared to look down on him. If a curse were easily broken, it would not be such a dreadful thing.

She turned to Meg again, correctly judging her to be the ranking female. There was a woman, the stories say, who traveled far to warn the tyrant of his enemies’ approach. Macbeth’s niece, they say, disappeared during the battle. Is she kin to you?

My sister, but we have not seen her for many years. Jenna noted Meg’s careful phrasing. Tessa lived in England with her husband, Lord Brixton. She sent letters from time to time, and only the day before a gleeman, a traveling entertainer, had brought one. He must be somewhere in the circle now, though Jenna didn’t see him.

Tessa’s letters provided a window on the world for Jenna, who had used them to teach herself to read. Knowing little of her younger sisters, Lady Brixton nevertheless wrote each of them a personal note with each missive she sent. Jenna had insisted from the beginning that the reader point out the words to her as he read. She memorized each one in order to puzzle over it later on her own. With letters and the books left behind by her father, she deciphered the connection between sound and form in writing, and from that point was often scolded for neglecting more productive work to put her nose in a book.

Hearing that Tessa lived, interest lit Leif’s eyes. Does Macbeth’s niece have sons?

Seeing her mistake, Meg hurried to correct it. When last we saw her, she was a maid.

And none of these is kin to Macbeth? Leif gestured at the men in the circle, his gaze determined. Dread gripped Jenna. He might yet order them all killed in order to leave no living drop of Macbeth’s blood.

Meg stood firm before his gaze. These are my husband’s kinsmen. You have climbed the mountain for nothing, Northman, for you will not find what you seek here.

Her defiant tone brought a frown to Arneson’s face, but his reply was interrupted as another man entered the circle. Broad-shouldered and solid, he moved silently into place beside the blond giant. His plain clothing was outshone by his companion’s polished brass brooch-pin and carved sword-case, but he seemed to Jenna more human, perhaps because his brown hair and square build were more like the men she knew. She felt a strange sensation when his gaze lifted and met hers. His eyes widened momentarily, as if he felt it as well. She looked away. He was a Viking, and therefore an enemy.

Did you find others? Arneson asked, and the quiet man shook his head. Good for you, Jessie. These Vikings might look like perfect warriors, but one slight girl had eluded them. She looked toward the spot where she guessed Jessie was hiding, but stopped herself, fearing she’d betray her sister’s presence.

When her glance returned to the circle, the newcomer was still looking directly at her. She lowered her face, fearing he’d read what she was thinking.

The blond giant also noticed the look she tried to hide. There is someone else here.

Arneson turned to the dark-haired man. Lukas, look again.

Without comment, the man turned and left the circle. His direction was wrong for where Jenna guessed her sister was hiding, and she smiled to herself. The Vikings were not as wise as they thought themselves to be.

Arneson turned to the cripple, apparently his seer. Might one of these women yet bear a son?

Fear sharpened her sisters’ faces. Nettie clutched her oldest daughter to her side, glancing fearfully at her husband. Ailsa clung to Robert, who put a protective arm around her and their baby daughter. Even the servants hunched lower.

The seer took a long time to answer. A woman will do only if there is no other. You must first make certain the missing sister has no sons.

How are we to find a woman ten years gone?

They know where she is. The giant spoke for the first time. His voice was low but carried easily, and he said it casually, as if to let the prisoners know how pitiful resistance would be. He unsheathed his sword, and a shiver of dread passed through the prisoners.

Tell me, then. Arneson focused on Meg.

Her expression was stony. I have said it. We have not seen our sister for many years.

Not seeing is not the same as not knowing. Surveying the circle of Scots, the big man stepped toward Ian, a servant almost blinded by cataracts. With a swift thrust, he spitted the old man with his sword. Ian was dead before he could cry out, but Meg’s anguished scream filled the air. Others moaned audibly as he fell.

No! Meg bent to touch the old man’s face, and Jenna put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

A useless life. We have done you a service. Righteousness vibrated in Arneson’s voice. Now repay the kindness. Where does Macbeth’s seed grow?

Meg looked to Donald, whose face was grim. Everyone understood the message: reveal Tessa’s location or see their people butchered one by one. What kind of choice was that?

As the decision hung over them, a man stepped out from the circle. Slight of build and no taller than Jenna, he carried himself with a confidence that demanded attention. It was the gleeman who had brought Tessa’s letter. I can tell you where the woman lives if you make it worth my while, he told the Vikings. I saw her less than a month ago.

A collective sound circled the little group, part dismay, part relief. Though this man might save them further tragedy, his intervention meant trouble for Tessa.

For her part, Jenna felt only anger. How dare this fellow offer to sell the lives of her aunt’s children to these monsters? If you make it worth my while indeed! Everyone here knew Tessa had twin boys eight years old as well as two younger daughters. Now the twins might be killed because of this man’s cowardice.

You’ve seen the woman? Arneson asked. Where?

I can draw you a map. Jenna searched her mind for the gleeman’s name but could not recall it. Whoever he was, he had no right to make decisions for her clan.

The third man returned to the group, shaking his head to indicate he’d found no one. What’s this? he said when he saw Ian lying dead.

A necessary sacrifice, the Viking replied in a tone that revealed how little Ian’s death mattered to him. We have learned what we need to know.

The man seemed to object, but in the end he pressed his lips together and said nothing. Angry he missed the sport of murdering an old man, she thought.

Wiping his sword on Ian’s tunic, the tall Viking put it away. We’ve journeyed all this way and climbed this infernal mountain only to learn we must go somewhere else?

The forces of nature lead where they will, Bjorn Aldis said. All things have purpose.

Leif seemed not to have heard their exchange. We will find her, but what of these liars, Aldis? Is it good sense to leave them alive?

Bad luck to kill mothers with children, she replied flatly, as if they discussed vegetables. Put them in their cattle byre and block the doors. By the time they escape we will be too far away for them to stop us.

Such as these would prove no stop to us, but we will make double sure. Leif Arneson looked around the circle as he spoke. Swiftly, then. I want this curse lifted before the king’s matters move forward.

You will be ready when he comes. Aldis’ somewhat protuberant eyes went wide as if visualizing some future event.

See it done. Leif’s men began herding their prisoners into the cave where cattle were kept in bad weather.

Wait, the giant ordered, and Jenna’s heart stopped as she found his gaze on her. This one is no mother of children. We should take her with us.

Fear tensed her throat, and although she intended to say, Don’t touch me, only a strangled growl emerged. Meg put an arm around her, a protective gesture and a warning.

Why, Bjorn? Leif was focused elsewhere.

Bjorn came close, looking Jenna over as if she were a hunting hound he might purchase. He pulled her chin up with his hand then released it, brushing her chest lightly in an ominous gesture. A wild flower from high in the mountains, he murmured. She smelled mint. Did he chew it to sweeten his breath, or did he suffer from headaches? Judging from his fine clothing, she guessed the former. Jenna met the Viking’s gaze defiantly and opened her mouth to speak, but Meg gripped her shoulder in warning.

Meeting her gaze with a smile, the tall man said, A hostage will protect our retreat.

Leif shrugged without interest. As you wish.

Bjorn turned his gaze on Donald. Do not follow, Scotsman, for her life is in your hands.

After a moment Leif said, If the sister has no sons, females must serve to pay the price. His voice turned anguished. I am determined to end this curse.

Donald made his move then, leaping at the Viking in a desperate attempt to protect Jenna. He reached for Leif’s throat, but one Viking reached out and slung the flat of his axe against the side of his head in an almost casual gesture.

Seizing her chance, Jenna dived past the Northmen, bare feet churning, and ran for the trees. As the intruders gaped in surprise, she gained the edge of the grove, disappeared into the foliage, and slipped behind a knoll she knew well, having hidden there more than once in the course of childish games.

Peering through the green-tipped branches, she watched the aftermath of her flight. Leif gave a curt order and gestured impatiently. Most of his men continued toward the byre, and Jenna’s heart sank as she saw two men pick up Donald’s still form and carry him along. Two others, the man called Bjorn and the one with green eyes, followed her into the wood. Bjorn headed down the path with sure intent. The other stopped, looking toward the spot where she lay. From his shrewd conclusion she’d choose cover over flight, Jenna guessed he was a skilled tracker with instincts honed for locating and capturing his quarry. Surprisingly, after a moment’s hesitation he moved away, following his companion.

Jenna lay flat, hardly daring to breathe, but she knew she couldn’t remain there for long. Dawn was breaking, and the night-robe she wore showed starkly white against the dark ground. With a bit of luck, however, she’d reach a place where the two men would never find her.

The path the Vikings had taken led to a pool that provided the clan’s water. The hiding place Jenna sought was there, but she had to approach it from a different direction. With agonizing slowness she moved away from the path, gliding silently through the trees to the far end of the cold, clear pool. A small waterfall fed it, and every child of the clan knew that behind the cascade lay a cave just large enough for one slight female to hide in until her pursuers gave up looking.

Creeping down the steep slope, she reached the water’s edge. The bank was soft here, and the pool lay under an overhanging ledge of scrub brush. Jenna ducked under the overhang and crouched beneath it, staying out of the water until she could be sure the Vikings were gone.

That was her mistake. As she waited, listening, a hand reached down from above and caught hold of her night-robe. One of them had guessed her intent, and now he had her. Or did he?

There was but a moment to decide what to do, and no real choice. Twisting her body Jenna slipped out of the loose shift, leaving it in her pursuer’s hand. She dived into the pool, hardly aware of the cold as fear drove her onward. Pushing herself deep into the water, she let experience guide her. Her lungs strained as she crossed without surfacing, pushing through the water with powerful kicks. Just as she feared her chest might burst, she felt the pound of water on her shoulders and made a final lunge. Soon she was behind the waterfall, safe from her enemy’s eyes and naked as the day of her birth.

Chapter Two

JESSIE

The night her world changed, Jessie was watching the moon make its way through forests of clouds in the night sky. So intent was she on the shapes and variations above her that she saw nothing until the Vikings were upon the clan-hold, pushing her family from their homes and their beds with rough words and heavy hands. From a place in her favorite tree she saw it all, though she couldn’t hear what was said. She sat frozen, unable to think of anything she could do to help.

At least a dozen large men, mostly fair-haired, forced her family and their small group of servants into the center of the open space, menacing them with heavy swords. Instinctively, Jessie’s eyes sought her twin in the group. Jenna was there, her expression fearful but also angry. Meg and Donald stood stiffly together, hiding the dread they must feel.

When everyone was assembled, a man stepped from the trees, an odd combination of youth and old age. He walked as if in a trance, but he questioned Donald and Meg intently. What did he want with them? There was little the world considered wealth here in the Cairngorms, nothing that made climbing the steep mountainside worthwhile. It was why her father had chosen this spot, far from their royal peers.

Meg answered the Viking, her words unintelligible but her manner scornful. Jessie shivered, for she sensed these men would not take defiance kindly.

Though she feared for them all, Jessie’s greatest concern was for Jenna, her other half. They shared the same light brown hair, greenish eyes, oval face, and clear skin, and they believed they shared one heart, for they heard each other’s thoughts and finished each other’s sentences. On the outside they were so much alike that only close family could tell them apart. Donald often said teasingly if they sat still and remained quiet, no one could. Of course, he always added, Jenna is seldom still or silent.

Though alike on the outside, their personalities were different. Jenna was the strong one, active, inquisitive, and sure of herself. Jessie was meek and unsure, in large part because of her crippled leg. Flawed herself, she easily forgave the wrongs of others. Jenna abided no insult and found forgiveness